


Panacea

by useinu



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 22:11:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17496329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/useinu/pseuds/useinu
Summary: Not all curses are evil.Not all blessings bring good.And so, the Panacea was brewed.





	1. Chapter 0

The swing of a door, the chime of a bell. Light from the setting sun seeps pass thick, velvety curtains, through a gap just wide enough for one to pass. Steps bring up rides of dust, particles shining golden as they float back down to wooden planks. The customer coughs with a polite hand covering her mouth, and stands to peer around the room before speaking up.

‘Is this the Apothecary? Is anyone there?’

Lamps of pale yellow gently luminize as if under the influence of her call, lighting up the room for her to see more clearly. Large but empty, the room only held furniture made from wood — empty shelves that were lined next to the walls, a similar shade of colour as the floorboards. Heavy curtains were draped over all four walls, the ends barely grazing the ground. In the centre of the room was a single wooden table, with chairs pulled to both sides.

The girl walks forward in small, uncertain steps to in front of the table, on which a single call bell sits, wooden handle decorated with delicate and detailed carvings, and with dust coating its silvery surface. She raises it and rings, and the chime is loud and clear, sound crisp with faint echoes.

She sets it back down, and stands to wait.

A moment passes in silence. She sighs and turns away, disappointment embedded into her words. ‘It really was just a silly rumour, huh—’

The scrape of wood against ground startles her, and within a second she whips her head in fear to look backwards. Her heart nearly stops as someone pulls out a chair to sit at the table, dressed in dark robes and a pulled up hood, but she manages to reign in her alarm so that none but a mere gasp escapes her lips. With one hand she clutches at her side, and with the other she covers her gaping mouth, steadying her breathing before making any other sound.

‘You are…?’

‘The owner of the Apothecary, you may call me Myrlin. Sit down, would you, and tell me what you’re looking for.’

She pulls out the chair opposite of the owner, tugs out her skirt, and sits down with her knees together. Shuffling the chair closer and looking down on her lap, she replies, ‘I’m here to find a cure,’ she stops to breathe in and breathe out, ‘something that can cure fire breath. I know it sounds ridiculous, but…’

He nods, despite her obvious uncertainty. ‘Something for yourself, or…?’

Her eyes widen in surprise, and she raises her head to look at him. ‘For my friend. It started a few, no, three days ago. We were hanging out together at his house when he saw…’ She trails off once more, hesitation showing through her now intertwined fingers.

‘Go on,’ he encourages.

Eyes cast downwards again, she proceeds. ‘A cockroach. He saw a cockroach, under the table. He looked like he was going to scream, but instead of sound coming out, he blew out fire instead.’ She raises her hands to press at her eyes. ‘It sounds so ridiculous — why do you even believe me?’

He shrugs. ‘Things happen.’

She stares, but continues nonetheless. ‘He’s holed himself in his room, he’s afraid of hurting people like how he—’

‘He...?’

Her hands unconsciously grip the edges of the chair. ‘He burnt me. Unintentionally.’

‘I see,’ he says after a pause, and gets up from his seat to walk to the back of the room, his hand grabbing at the curtain. ‘Sit tight. Don’t fall off your chair.’

Leaving no time for further responses, he pulls a golden curtain cord, and the world spins around her. She spins with it, hands clutching the chair tightly, fingernails almost carving into the wood from her grip.

It comes to a stop at some point, but the dizziness remains, and she struggles to stay upright in her seat. The shopkeeper, on the other hand, hasn’t moved even an inch from his standing position, and only has his clothes ruffled. 

‘A long overdue welcome to you, dearest customer, from the Apothecary.’ 

She glances around, and her eyes widen as the room has changed and shifted into something very different. Walls once hidden by curtains lay bare, painted with whites and purples; shelves once empty were now filled, flasks and bottles lined neatly in every compartment, burnished glass shining under hovering balls of light.

‘Are those lights…?’

‘Yes, they do float. Customers like them, and since it's not much work maintaining them, I keep them up.' He raises a finger to poke at the nearest one, and the light bounces off his fingertip and flies another direction. She imitates him, eyes wide with wonder. 

He clears his throat to regain her attention. ‘Back to the point. Fire breath isn't uncommon. It's quite a common curse, seeing how even beginners can cast it, so the cure isn't anything hard to find.’ 

He steps out of sight behind a shelf, and within seconds he returns with a vial, the liquid inside a pale shade of aquamarine. Sitting back down, he twists the glass between dangling fingers and explains. ‘This is what we commonly call “ _Knoor_ ”, meaning “Water Breath”, coming from how it cures “Fire Breath”, or what we call “ _Hienn_ ”. If you were cursed with  _Knoor_ , you'd need a dosage of  _Hienn_. The same works vice versa.’ He uncaps the vial and reaches into the pocket of his cloak to take out a capsule, and pours just enough of the cure into it so that the small pill is full. ‘This much will be enough.' 

He packages the pill in a small bag and slides it over. 'And a little extra to go with it,' he adds, and hands another small package to her. 'For the burns.'

She receives it with outstretched hands, cradling the small pouch. ‘About the payment…’

He crosses his arms and sighs. ‘Unless you have Pieces, I'll let you go for free. That's the only currency we accept; human coins and bills don't work here.’

Her lips stretch into a thin line. 'I can't just take this for free.'

But he waves a hand as if to dismiss any further discussion, stopping her before she can suggest anything else. 'Really, it doesn't matter. Consider this one on the house — a free trial for first-time customers.'

Her shoulders sag, seeing no further point in arguing with him. 'If you insist.'

He smiles at her, and walks over to the curtain once again. With curtain cord in hand, he waves as he bids her farewell.

‘Thank you for shopping at the Apothecary. Have a great day.’

He pulls.

And he's gone, leaving her in the dust and silence of the empty room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> getting the hang of ao3.


	2. Chapter 1

_Myrrh,_ his half-asleep mind tells him, scent wafting through the air. 

_Vanilla. Paper. Butter. Metal. Ink._

He doesn’t need to look to know who it is, and soon enough, as the other’s aware that he’s awake, a hand finds its way to on top of his head, slender fingers running through soft golden locks. 

‘Good morning.’

‘Good morning, Emrys. Did you lock the door this time?’

Emrys chuckles. ‘I always do, why do you ask? Get up, now, you have people waiting for you downstairs.’

He sighs and buries his head into the covers. ‘Already?’

‘It’s well past noontime. Stop sleeping late.’ He hears the disapproving tone in his voice, but he can’t be bothered to argue. With a grunt he heaves by him, and rolls off his bed to conduct his morning routine.

Emrys leaves the door open when he skips out. ‘I’ll sort out things down there first," he sings, "but don’t keep them waiting for too long!’ 

He groans and shouts ‘close the damned door!’ after him, but moves to slam the thing shut anyways, because Emrys has never even _once_ turned back to do so, and he proceeds to trip on his way to the bathroom. 

He curses. 

As soon as he’s done with everything and double checks that the door is locked, he heads down the stairs to the store and can only pray for a less busy day than usual. But then, more work meant more income, more income meant less overdue bills. He sighs. 

Emrys is chatting with with a purple-clad woman next to the Transfiguration shelf, and a few more guests are scattered around the aisles in search for whatever they need. Myrlin pushes back glass bead blinds and locks another door behind him before moving into the shop to help out his customers. He approaches a man in the Aqueous section of the Medicine sector first, since Emrys can keep the lady occupied and the others look half as confused as this man. 

‘Good day,’ he dips his head in greeting, blond bangs brushing over golden eyes for a split second, ‘do you need help with finding anything?’

’By the gods, yes,’ the man reaches to pull down his scarf so that he can speak better. ‘I’m from London, you see — took me quite a while to find the shop. Heard the cures here do wonders.’

‘Glad to hear that. Did you come by from Windsor? Or by Silbury Hill?’

‘Eton, actually. Cold and rainy over there, but m’fraid that’s how winter in Britain is.’

’That’s just how weather works in Britain.’ The man chuckles slightly before Myrlin brings them back to the issue at hand. ‘What did you need help with finding, again?’

’The herbs section, actually. You have gynostemma and lemon balm, right? Common stuff, but I figured you'd also have the recipe for anti-petrification here. You don't charge extra, do you?'

Myrlin waves a  _follow me_  gesture at him and manoeuvres his way through the shop. 'We don't, as you said. This is an Apothecary for a reason, not a supplies shop — we're bound to be different from those in some way, aren't we? Oh, and,' he pauses in front of the glass back doors and turns back to the man, 'it's rather hot out there. You're welcome to leave your coat and scarf inside on the rack over there, Mister...?'

'Bell, but Richard is fine.' The customer smiles and complies, and Myrlin leads him out into the garden where summer is. 

The cooler air of the Apothecary rushes into the garden as they step inside, but as he shuts the doors close behind them, the warm yet fresh air of the greenhouse hits them like a tide upon a beach. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ He comments, as Richard's jaw slackens for a moment before the hint of a smile forms. ‘It's quite the hassle to maintain, but it's definitely worth everything.’ 

‘Impressive. Construction must take up a lot of your mana.'

‘It’s a small price for it to automatically renew itself.’ He wants to add more to the statement, perhaps an explanation on how the whole process worked or something of the sort, but his cell phone buzzes against his thigh under his long, heavy robes, demanding for his attention. 'Excuse me for a moment,’ he mutters after seeing the caller ID and recognising its importance, ‘but I'll step aside for a moment.’

‘Take your time.’ Richard waves a faint hand at him and leaves him to his own devices. He taps on the green button and raises the device to his ear. 

‘Blessings, Talma.'

‘Blessings,’ the woman greets from the other end, voice cracking with static. ‘Your assistance is required in the Northern Sector. Six-O-two in the evening, if you may.’ 

‘Got it. Anything else?’ 

‘No. See you there, then,’ she replies, and the line goes dead. He sees Richard eyeing one of his gynostemma plants suspiciously, and sighs while pocketing his phone and stepping towards him in long strides. ‘Yes, it's gynostemma. I'll wrap some up for you, if you may.’ 

A grin is flashed in his direction and he sighs again. 'Yes, yes. Lemon balm, anti-petrification recipe. Yes. Just don't touch anything, Mr. Richard.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2=chapter 1


	3. Chapter 2

The herbs and papers have all been stacked and tied neatly into a bundle by the time they return from the tour of the garden. Emrys is somehow still chattering with the woman in purple, and Myrlin thanks him internally for his commendable effort. Pieces and papers are exchanged, and Richard leaves behind his business card in case of further contact. 

One of the two others has left already, as Myrlin spots a space in between the _Kamoon_  and _Yuka_ potions where a wad of paper Pieces have been placed. The remaining customer is trying his luck in the Spells shelves, pulling and pushing out volumes of leather-bound indexes with care. He picks up the stack of Pieces and stuffs them into the cashier, then decides to first rescue Emrys from his nearing limits. 

‘A pleasure to meet you,’ his hand extends for the lady in purple to take as he strides towards them, ‘I am the owner of the Apothecary; you may call me Myrlin. Could I have your name, Miss?’

Taking the invitation and giving it a firm shake, he finds himself mirroring her polite smile. Her eyes, he notes, are also a shade of purple. _Lavender_ , he adds, _and_ _periwinkle_. 

‘Ianthe.’ The flowerfield in his mind vanishes as she speaks, shades and hues of purple and violet shattering into balls and droplets of gold, while scents of lilac linger in the air. 'It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir Myrlin.' 

'Well met.' Emrys snickers under his breath, and he sticks his foot at his ankle. 'I hope Mr. Murdock here hasn't bored you yet with his small talk.’ 

Ianthe’s lips stretch info a tooth-filled smile in return. 'He was just telling me about your adventures in obtaining a healthy ashwagandha plant. You're quite the traveller for your age, aren't you?'

Emrys titters again with his hand clamped over his mouth. Myrlin has the urge to hit him on the head, but reminds himself that manners are indeed important, and ultimately decides against it. 'Looks can be deceiving, Miss Ianthe. But, do you still need help with finding whatever it is that you need? Or have you picked something out already?'

Ianthe beams a sweet twinkle at him. ‘I’m looking for Belladonna. I believe you do have some here, right?’ A hand raises to cup her cheek, and she tilts her head slightly. ‘It’d be a shame if you didn’t — I’d have to go all the way to Germany just to pick some up.’ 

He glances at Emrys from the corner of his eye, and the latter is also peeping back at him. ‘I suppose we do have some in the back. Would you,’ he breaks the slightest eye contact that they’ve established and focuses back entirely on Ianthe, ‘need anything like a recipe or such?’ 

‘Your concern is appreciated, but I have everything prepared already.’ Her smile stretches unbelievably wide, teeth baring and white gleaming. ‘Just the final ingredient to finish the batch with.’ 

Emrys seems slightly unnerved by her dulcet tone, but Myrlin finds himself even more so. Her eyes, he realises, have never blinked at all. 

'Follow me,' he manages, and enters the garden once again. Belladonna, being the dangerous plant it was, was planted near the walls of the yard; with its strong, upright stem, healthy leaves, and plump black berries, many a non-suspecting child would have picked a berry or two and savoured the sweet fruit. 

Myrlin's bare fingers trace its leaves slowly, a pale green to contrast with the black of the berries, and hisses involuntarily when he abruptly flinches away from the plant. Upon further inspection, he realises that there are small curved cuts on his palm, made light and clean enough that no blood has appeared yet. The lines stand pinkish against his pale skin, dots and colours splashed across upon contact with the herb. He knows that no simple plant could’ve made cuts as clean as these, and that belladonna was poisonous and as harmful as a poisonous plant could be — he’s a _doctor_ for whatever’s sake — but Ianthe’s smile seems to have stretched even further, a true ear-to-ear one at this point even though he can barely tell from his blurring vision. 

‘Rather careless for a doctor, aren’t you? You’ve never seemed to use gloves all this time; I thought I’d conduct a little experiment.’ Her fingers are curled around her chin, nails glinting under the summer sun. ‘A harmless one, indeed. Thank you, dear Myrlin. I’ll be taking my leave now.’ 

He staggers across the dirt and grabs onto Emrys, who steadies him by the shoulders before taking off after the woman. ‘Looks can be deceiving, Sir Myrlin!’ She cackles from beyond the garden, the teasing tone of her voice making his chest swell and heartbeat quicken. ‘Seems like you haven’t learnt your lesson just yet!’


	4. Chapter 3

Three doses of _Koxinto_ had steadied his heartbeat, and another two of _Atad_ had ridded him of all the throbbing. Emrys had returned not long ago, shaking his head as he entered the store, and told him that she had escaped by the Eastern Terminal. ‘I called Velvel earlier to see if he could help us out,’ he had added, ‘he’s coming from Busan, apparently.’ 

He should’ve noticed the unusual white of her teeth, her masked scent and the retracted claws hiding in the form of manicured fingernails. Her voice was captivating and sweet, but far to enticing to have been just charming. _A skinwalker_ , he determines, _and an evil one at that._  

The last customer had grabbed whatever he’d needed and left behind the corresponding amount of Pieces on the counter in a rush, presumably frightened by the sudden chase and by a limping Myrlin. Now with a couple of hours left until the arranged meeting between Talma and him, he’d closed the shop early and went out into town instead to pass the time with Emrys ambling by his side.  

Their steps trace the riverside, with cobblestone fences built low for seating and willows planted between gaps, pale fingertips rippling the surface in gentle, sweeping touches. With its ever-changing skies of suns and stars, flowing rivers of gold and turquoise, and buildings of diverse heights and styles — the Breach, the safest haven for all witches, was as breathtaking as ever. Scents mingled and colours blended everywhere, prompting him to stop and take a look at everything around him.

A hang tugs at his cloak abruptly, grabbing the fabric around his elbow. ‘We should pay Aether a visit,’ Emrys mumbles, as they pass by a certain house built in an oriental style, with a low wooden porch built at the front of it and metal lanterns hanging from the eaves. But as the blinds are all drawn shut unlike normal, he shakes his head and pulls him along away from it.

‘Not today,' he says as the other grumbles, 'I'd rather we walked around. Maybe pick up a few stones from Vel's store on the way.' 

'Vel is in Busan, though.'

He sticks his tongue out in response. 'Should get that attitude of yours fixed,' he says, and jabs a finger onto his forehead. 'Young ones nowadays.'

'You're getting old, Myrlin.' 

'I haven't grown a single white hair yet.'

'Pah,' Emrys snorts. '50 year-old you and your 19 year-old body.' 

'21 year-old you and your 5 year-old brain.' The two glare at each other in feigned aggression, but end up in a bunch of chuckles anyways. 'Poor griffin chose the wrong person to bless.'

'Curse, you mean. Thing had the brain of a _bird_.' 

'Edithorpe's research proves otherwise. Page 204, the thirteenth line says—'

' _"Intelligent beasts that are protectors of treasure and golden like the sun, leading men in their search of riches and dominance over all."_ ' A paper published during his childhood, he remembers, that tells of a beast majestic and powerful, with the head of an eagle and the body of a lion. ' _"The beat of its wings and its shrill cry would send legions toppling over, and its talons would sweep over their heads to block out the sun and knock them over."_ Did you think you could beat me to that?’ 

Laughter ensues, and Myrlin crosses his arms. ‘You’re really getting old,’ the other chortles, wiping away a fake tear from the corner of his eye. ‘But your memory hasn’t gotten the least bit worse at all.’ 

‘Not sure if that was a compliment or an insult, but thanks.’ 

Decades of dedicated studying does you no harm, he supposes, especially when you have all the time in the world to obtain endless amounts of knowledge. 

Eventually, they find themselves grabbing a bite at a nearby bistro and lounging the hours away, Emrys writing out talismans and he himself indulging in newly published papers, and at five thirty they tread their way to the Nothern Sector, where Talma awaits at the open square in the middle of innumerable crossroads. 

‘Blessings,’ she greets them the same she does every time they meet, palms facing each other as she dips her head, and they return the long-held custom. ‘A rift was found in the Blockade this morning, a fairly large one, I’d say so myself. The Board has sent Raven and I to lead the patch up today.’

The plaza feels stuffy and tense around them, and the lingering scent of something remains. ‘Have you traced the perpetrator?’ 

‘Yes, he’s under interrogation right now.’ 

‘Any other passings?’

’None we could pick up. Murdock reported the woman you encountered this morning, Velvel is working with us to track her down. She escaped by the Eastern Terminal, I know you’ve probably heard, so the chances of this rift being related to her are low.’

He nods in understanding. ‘But, what’s with the atmosphere here? The air seems awfully stiff.’ 

‘Does it? I’m afraid I don’t feel anything, but do get ready for the patch up. We’ll be starting now soon.’

’Thank you.’ They join the small group of witches that have gathered, some of them carrying staffs or fiddling with wands and sticks to help them with the casting, some warming their hands in song or chanting prayers. Myrlin notices a familiar wheelchair at the edge of the group, and pulls Emrys along to greet their ‘friend’. 

Aether is sitting cross-armed in his wheelchair like always, stave strapped to the back post and lantern swinging from the tip. He sniffs when he seems them, and waves a hand vaguely at their coming.

‘Our favourite doctor and his puppy, hello. What a _great_ day to be out here in the open.’

His voice is in its usual hoarse and airy tone, faint noises coming from his throat when he breathes in a little too hard. Emrys stiffens at the label of ‘puppy’, while Myrlin attempts a smile at him.

‘I’m sure it’s been a great day for you, because it certainly has been for us.’ He receives a snort in response, before Aether finally lifts his head to look at them both. 

‘The air.’ 

‘Is everywhere around us?’

’No, shit,’ he grits his teeth. ‘You know what I mean.’

_Do all teenagers swear this much nowadays?_ ‘Yes, I do.’

’I’m pretty sure doc here can see it. Yes,’ he continues before Myrlin can retort anything further at him, ‘you can see it if you would just _focus_ a little. Try not to breathe in too much, though; there’s something lurking in the air.’ 

The flicker of his lantern doesn’t go unnoticed, and Aether flinches the slightest bit when it does. ‘Damnit,’ he swears as he lowers his head again, ‘whatever it is, it’s bad. Real bad. And no one is noticing it.’ 

‘That I can tell, but thank you for the warning. Here’s a _Twoup_ potion for your help.’ A vial of clear solution drops into his lap, and he fishes out another two for Emrys and himself. ‘I hope nothing goes wrong during the patch up.’ 

Their conversation is cut short as Talma speaks to the crowd. ‘Blessings, everyone. Thank you for coming on such short notice.’ The greeting is once again mirrored by all of the group, and Talma smiles as she continues. ‘As you’ve heard upon briefing, a rift was found in the Blockade this morning. Our job is to patch it up, and strengthen the wards around the Sector as well. Are there any questions?’ 

The group remains silent. ‘Then, let’s begin. Formation, everyone.’ The witches shuffle into a circle with their backs facing the centre. Tomes, staffs, wands, and hands are readied, and after a minute of silence, Talma leads them to start the chant. 

‘ _Parta, parta, nous hikas wamon janka! Hazule jan to gahui, slaobb nous eekijan..._ ’ 

_Focus_ , he thinks, as lines of different colours stretch into the sky, whites and golds from his own palms blending into the rest. Emrys’s distinct blue and beige comes from his adjacent, and the clear emerald of Aether bursts from across the ring, sparks flying as his lines weave through the air in ripple-like movements. Talma’s calm wine red travels in straight lines, a stark contrast to the green snakes next to hers. He catches himself admiring the view more than focusing on his own casting, but since he’s focusing on the products of everyone’s casting, he supposes it’s fine. 

The Blockade mends itself in its miraculous ways, taking the streams of lines and strings and weaving them into the patches of the quilt. A strong white gathers at the top as the holes disappear, and it breaks into a thousand pieces of stars when the job is done. 

‘Good work, everyone,’ Talma claps as they all lower their hands in exhaustion. ‘The Board thanks you for your commendable effort today. You are all dismissed.’ 

Dusts of diamond are still falling as most of the crowd leave. Aether loiters in the near-empty plaza, arms crossed once again in waiting. _So much for his breathtaking magic,_  he laments as he sticks his tongue out at them, _when he has the attitude of a shrew._


End file.
